Ancient Georgian colours: green, burgundy, rust. All mortar-and-pestle, no nonsense.
Pkhali is peasant food dressed up by time and terrain. Three versions, three colours — spinach bright as October, beetroot dark as soil, kidney beans earthy as old wine. You pound them by hand because that's where the flavour lives, in the friction and the anger. Serve with mchadi warm from the griddle and pomegranate arils scattered like rubies. This is what Tbilisi tastes like when the leaves turn.
Heat a dry pan over medium heat. Add the walnuts and toast for 3-4 minutes, shaking often, until fragrant and pale gold. Transfer to a cool plate. In the same pan, toast the coriander seeds for 2 minutes — you'll smell citrus. Let them cool, then grind both walnuts and seeds separately in a mortar until they're the texture of wet sand. Do not overwork them into butter.
Bring a small pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Tip in the chopped spinach, count to 30, drain into a colander. Let it cool, then squeeze gently with your hands over the colander to remove excess water. You want it dry, not dripping, or the pkhali will split.
In a mortar, crush the garlic with a pinch of salt until it's a rough paste. Add half the ground walnuts and grind again. Tip in the cooled spinach, the coriander and fenugreek, and the vinegar. Pound with the pestle, turning the mixture as you go, until it's the texture of thick pâté — rough, not smooth. Taste. Season with salt and pepper. If it tastes flat, add a tiny pinch more fenugreek. Transfer to a small bowl.
Rinse out the mortar (or use a second one if you're fastidious). For the beetroot: crush fresh garlic again, add ground walnuts, then the grated raw beetroot. Grind and pound until it's dark and ropey. Add coriander, fenugreek, pomegranate molasses, a touch of vinegar. Season. For the kidney beans: same process — garlic, walnuts, beans, spices, vinegar, pomegranate molasses. The beans will be the earthiest, slightly grainy; that's right. All three should taste sharp, warm, and leave your mouth a little dry. That's the mark of honest pkhali.
Wet two spoons under cool water. Take a heaped spoonful of the spinach pkhali, place it in the bowl of one spoon, then use the second spoon to shape it into an oval, rotating it gently against the edge of a serving plate. Repeat with the beetroot and bean versions, placing each quenelle in a triangle. Work quickly — the spreads should stay cool and hold their shape.
Scatter pomegranate arils generously across all three quenelles. A tiny drizzle of pomegranate molasses over each helps too, if you have it. Warm the mchadi gently in a dry pan or over a flame — it should be warm enough to tear without cracking. Serve immediately, cornbread alongside.
“Three low, fat quenelles arranged in a loose triangle on a plain white or slate plate. Pomegranate arils scattered like confetti — don't be shy, they're the colour and the brightness. A small pile of warm mchadi on the side, torn into rough fingers. Let the three colours speak for themselves: green, burgundy, rust. The plate should look earthy, generous, alive. No garnish beyond the pomegranate. The spreads are the show.”
First spoon of spinach: bright green, slightly grassy, the fenugreek comes in warm and strange. Beetroot version: earthier, sweeter, the pomegranate molasses cutting through like a bell. Kidney beans: the deepest, most savoury, almost meaty without being meat. Together, they tell you where this kitchen is. By the third quenelle, your palate has shifted; you're not eating spreads, you're eating memory.
Red and tannin-light; the peppery walnut and fenugreek find their match in the wine's spice
Dry and mineral; cuts through the richness and lets the beetroot sing
Echoes the molasses without shouting; clean, tart, lets the spreads be the star
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